


platform

by lochTenderness (theseourbodies)



Series: pony [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Fade to Black, Flowery metaphors, High Heels, M/M, oh akaashi, very high
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseourbodies/pseuds/lochTenderness
Summary: "So, I need you to do that thing where you tell me to screw the haters--""You mean when I encourage you to follow your own instincts and not cater to the heretofore unknown reactions of others?""Yeah, that's what I said! Anyway, I need you to give me a boost!!"Akaahi and Bokuto are roommates, and Akaashi, at least, is in love.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: pony [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957846
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: Bokuto Week 2020





	platform

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bokuto Week 2020 Day 2: Fukuroudani/ **knee pads/different sport!AU**
> 
> I'm saying that this works even though it's less of a different sport AU and more of a different career au. Bokuto still competes! it counts!

Two years ago, when Konoha had offered to introduce him to Bokuto, his friend from high school who was desperately seeking a roommate, Akaashi had initially politely declined. Between his freelance editing and his side shifts at the coffee house downtown, he wasn't that bad off. If his refrigerator was usually empty and his meals consisted mostly of ready-made meals or plain rice, well, that was between him, his ancient rice cooker, and the convenience store clerk. Konoha hadn't pushed, the sneaky bastard; he had just casually, "accidentally" flashed the empty refrigerator and mostly empty cabinets at Washio the next time Akaashi had made the mistake of having friends over. Unlike Konoha, Washio _had_ insisted, and Akaashi, shamed into listening, had met with their mutual friend Bokuto Koutarou the very next day. 

It had been a hell of a meeting, but then, spending time in such close proximity to a man like Bokuto was a hell of a thing. He was bright eyed, loud, and Akaashi had hesitated right up until Bokuto-- who had been wearing a cut off t-shirt _and_ cut off sweats in addition to an ominous streak of silver glitter under his left eye-- had smiled at one of Akaashi's observations of their fellow cafe-goers. Something foreign-feeling had burst open in the back of Akaashi's brain like fireworks; the world got a little brighter, it seemed. It had been a beautiful Tuesday afternoon to fall in love, and Akaashi had taken full and complete advantage. 

The details had been easy to work out, after that. The rent would be split down the middle; Akaashi would handle all utilities, if Bokuto would stock the fridge weekly. Other details came out later, of course, after they officially began rooming together: Akaashi was a graduate student prone to anxious overwork and facing down the first draft of his thesis; Bokuto was a stripper at the Bird Cage downtown who was trying to get his pole dancing class business off the ground. Incredibly, they made it work. 

\--- 

"Bokuto-san." 

"Ah, h-hey Akaashi! This uh, isn't what it looks like!" 

"Really, because it looks an awful lot like you're attempting to install a pole in the highly questionable plaster of our ceiling." 

"I-- well--" 

Akaashi sighs deeply. They had briefly discussed this over dinner a week ago-- no. Two weeks? Ah well, he'd try and think about that lost time later. For now, he was more concerned with Bokuto's precarious perch on someone's borrowed ladder and the suspiciously person-shaped lump under the sheet that Bokuto had conscientiously laid out under his contruction project. 

"Do you even have a stud finder, Bokuto-san?" 

The suspicious lump under the sheet wheezes with familiar laughter. Bokuto, unable to cock his head, as it is bent at almost a ninety degree angle, flush to the ceiling, still manages to silently convey his innocent confusion. Akaashi sighs again. 

"I only wish that you had asked me to help you," Akaashi says, a little put out. Bokuto, face still pressed sideways to the ceiling, pouts down at him sadly. "Please let me ask our neighbors if they have the tools we will need, Bokuto-san. And please tell Kuroo-san that if he continues to hide from me, I will find your highest heels with which to stomp him out. _And he will_ not _enjoy the process_ ," Akaashi says pointedly to the person-shape, which had shot up at his words. 

"Aw, Akaashi, that's no fun," Kuroo coos at him as he pulls the sheet off his head. "You have two strippers tryna put up a pole in your living room.” With no visible effort, Kuroo hefts his long, still-covered leg aloft at a sharp angle. “I’m literally pitching a tent for you, ‘Kaashi. Where's your sense of humor?" 

"I submitted it as a sacrifice to the university to achieve a place in my graduate program, Kuroo-san. Now please, replace that sheet; I'll only be a moment." 

\--- 

Two years later, there's still nothing that Akaashi would have ever done differently. 

\--- 

"Akaashi?" 

Akaashi snarls under his breath and doesn't stop typing-- the thought had to make it all the way out of his brain and into the word doc or it would be gone forever. 

"Agggaaassshiiii." 

"Shut up, shut up, what?" 

There's a brief pause before Akaashi's beloved roommate says, "But which one is it Akaashi?" in a deafening whisper. Akaashi smacks the period key with prejudice and looks around blearily-- when he catches sight of Bokuto, his roommate is mostly hidden-- his ridiculous lips are pouted out just past the door frame. With his train of thought safely laid out in the document, Akaashi relaxes incrementally back into his chair and smiles at Bokuto's care. 

"I meant: what is it Bokuto-san?" 

Half of Bokuto's face slides into view. His one exposed eye blinks at Akaashi. "Are you done typing? Sorry, I totally forgot, I just got excited." 

Akaashi rolls back from his desk, careful to keep his body relaxed-- half of Bokuto's job was reading body language, and whether the other man realized it or not Bokuto was always very responsive to it. "It's alright, Bokuto-san. What do you need?" 

"Ah. Well, I got those new shoes in, and they're awesome! And I want to do my next class in them but I don't want anyone to feel weird about it, so I need you to do that thing where you tell me to screw the haters--" 

"You mean when I encourage you to follow your own instincts and not cater to the heretofore unknown reactions of others?" 

"Yeah, that's what I said! Anyway, I need you to give me a boost!!" 

Akaashi knows exactly what shoes Bokuto is talking about, and he's infinitely glad that he managed to get his thought down when he had. There's a high probability he isn't getting anything productive done after he witnesses these shoes first-hand. 

"Of course, Bokuto-san." Akaashi says, already resigned. "Are you wearing them now?" 

Instead of answering, Bokuto jerks out of view and then steps into the open doorway. Akaashi has a split second to register surprisingly subtle gold and clear plastic before Bokuto strides forward-- _too close! too close!_ Akaashi silently screams-- and props one heel-clad foot up on the corner of Akaashi's desk. It is not a particularly athletic move, even for someone not as ridiculously fit as Bokuto , since the heels on the shoes are—high. _Very high_ , Akaashi thinks, deliriously. The gold laces web across the front of Bokuto's shin from the strappy pieces holding his foot to the clear platform base. The extra lacing at the top-- Akaashi ruthlessly smothers the image of the criss-crossing ties going even _higher_ \-- overlaps just a little with the bottom of the compression kneepads Bokuto likes best when he's teaching classes or planning choreography. 

"Aren't they great! I can't believe they got here so fast, can you? And look, I can even fill the clear bit with anything I want to!" Expertly balanced still on the one shoe on the ground, Bokuto bends his knee down to the desktop. With his calf flush to the surface and the clear bottom of the shoe exposed, he points excitedly down to a cut out, just visible through thick, curved plastic. The pose turns Bokuto’s hips out, and puts just a lot of Bokuto right up close and personal. Akaashi stubbornly ignores everything but the shoes on Bokuto's well-kept feet. 

(Happily, Bokuto had been cautious about Akaashi as a roommate at first and had kept his shoe collection out of sight. Akaashi already has a rigidly guarded secret fondness for the kneepads-- god knows what strange foot fetish would have arisen from his roommate strutting around in those kneepads _and_ six-inch platforms.) 

Akaashi silently begs for calm and says, "These were a good choice for you, Bokuto-san. I think you should disregard your fears of criticism; these shoes will be as popular as any of your other props in your classes." 

Bokuto looks down-- down, down, down, Akaashi really had no earthly concept of how tall six feet, six inches was until now-- and cocks his head, eyes wide and waiting. 

"So yes," Akkashi says, unable and unwilling to stop his mouth from curving up softly. "Fuck the haters, Bokuto-san." 

There’s a long pause after that, something strange between them stretching like taffy. 

Ah, that hadn’t been right. Something about this hadn’t managed to skim under Bokuto’s radar, this time. Akaashi is subtle—stone-faced _bastard_ , a particularly furious ex had called him once—but lust isn’t a subtle thing to experience for anyone. Stuck here, sitting pretty much between Bokuto’s spread thighs as his best friend looks down at him with wide eyes, Akaashi is swamped by the unsubtle rush of it. 

Akaashi has things he always loves about Bokuto, normal things like the way he smiles and the way he tilts his head when he asks Akaashi a question and the way he’ll leave Akaashi meals and presents at his elbow when Akaashi can’t look away from the work. But there are some things that Akaashi just likes about Bokuto, too. Some of them are platonic. Most of them are not: the soft, slight swell of skin where the elastic in his kneepads cuts into his thigh is one of them. The way his muscle plays smooth under pale skin when he moves is another. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto starts, and his voice is low. Akaashi fixes his eyes on the bend of Bokuto’s ankle into his foot and refuses to look up. “Do you like them?” 

“No. Yes. I--” 

For all the things that Akaashi remembers about Bokuto, for all his lists of good things and not so good things, one thing Akaashi sometimes forgets completely is that, for the better part of five years, Bokuto has been seducing people for tip money. Bokuto at home is usually different from the man who steps onto the stage, which Akaashi thinks is how it ought to be. It’s not a moral judgement; it’s just that the dancer on that stage is a fantasy, and Akaashi wants flesh and blood to come home to. 

So, he thinks the sound that comes out of his mouth is perfectly understandable when Bokuto seamlessly lifts his leg off of Akaashi’s desk, pivots, and slides—smooth as smoke—into Akaashi’s unsuspecting lap. Akaashi thinks he must black out for a moment; when he recovers, Bokuto has one heeled foot braced on the arm of Akaashi’s chair; it is significantly more athletic than the previous pose, but before Akaashi can register than thought completely, Bokuto starts leaning back. 

_He’s going to fall off,_ Akaashi thinks stupidly and he reacts without hesitation—one hand wraps itself in the back of Bokuto’s shirt and one hand clenches tight in the bend of Bokuto’s knee. Akaashi’s nails scritch at the spandex there, and that’s the only reason he shivers—it's just the sound. Bokuto’s foot hits the ground again with a heavy, hollow, _thunk_. 

Bokuto smiles, bright eyed, triumphant, and drapes his arms over Akaashi’s shoulders as he leans down, down, down. “Hey Keiji,” he hushes against Akaashi’s burning ear, “so, you like them?” 

_Keiji, Keiji, Keiji._

There are limits, to what Akaashi can usually endure, but Bokuto Koutarou has always been a limitless wonder to him, since the very first day. 

“Please, Bokuto-san,” is all he can say, his tight throat squeezing the hell out of the words. _Please don’t tease me, please just tell me, please don’t say anything, don’t take this away, please, please,_ _pleasepleasepleas_ _\--_

_“Yes,_ God, yes, just—ok, Keiji can I kiss you, is that ok?” Bokuto, flesh and blood, cups both hands around Akaashi’s face—big hands, powerful. Akaashi likes them, he likes them so much. 

“ _Please.”_

Akaashi has a meeting with his advisor regarding his revisions in ten hours, but he had known when he invited Bokuto in—to his room, to his life—that this was how it would be. Akaashi had known he would be living his life in between the moments when Bokuto amazed his anxious mind into stillness; he had known, and he had agreed anyway. 

On that beautiful Tuesday, two years ago now, Akaashi had idly thought about what it would be like, to kiss Bokuto. Like kissing the sun, he had laughed to himself. Better left for someone better equipped, in the end, but still: an experience. And now, Akaashi knows, it is like kissing the sun, it’s like kissing a star. Imperfect, too hot and too hard, but not enough, not ever enough. He gasps, strains up against the weight in his lap; Bokuto just strains back. Koutarou, all Akaashi’s fantasized about for the last two years, presses him back, hard, with all his weight, and kisses him like a celestial body coming down. All Akaashi can do is hang on. 

Ten hours later, Akaashi is thirty minutes late to his meeting with his advisor but, as usual, there’s nothing that he would have ever done differently. 

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on the tweeter: @theseourbodies


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